Shadow
by Aeternas Infinitum
Summary: A sequel to the Inheiritance Cycle. Gïrnięn is confused. Starting from the son of a noble, he suddenly is plunged into the affairs of Riders. Meanwhile, evil prowls...
1. Prologue

**Prologue to **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

A solitary figure wreathed in a cloak of shadows stood on the overhang overlooking Illirea as lightning flashes and the sky glows with its power. He smiled. In the casket was the key to the transformation. All that was needed was the blood… Slowly, the figure drew a knife. The blade was of finest obsidian, the pommel gold. A single garnet was set between the grip and the blade. The figure ceremoniously brought up the knife… and cut a blood vessel. The blood fell on the poor, mangled thing in the casket. _Crash_. The storm raged on as the figure shuffled to the casket and breathed in the fumes. Then slowly, ever so painfully slowly, it began. A trace of black raced up his skin as he chanted one of the oldest and most dangerous spells. Wherever the black passed, the skin shriveled and withered until the whole of the man, for that was what he was, became a desiccated husk of his former self. A slow smile spread across his skull. The Lich King was created.


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

Gïrnięn rose from his bed, yawning. The storm of last night had been a terrible one, and he didn't get enough sleep. Grandfather might be worse off—he was old, and memories of the battle of Urû'baen, now Illirea, still haunted him. Back then he was titled Stronghammer for his prowess with a hammer. However, in his tormented and feverish slumber, he dreamt of it rising in blood and exacting vengeance on him for all those he condemned to death. And that was one he could talk about freely.

In Grandfather's room, Gïrnięn found the old man coughing up phlegm feverishly as the servants tended to him. Hesitantly, Gïrnięn approached. Grandfather's eyes were unfocused and distorted.

"Katrina! Katrina, where are you, my love?" The elderly man croaked.

Grandfather hadn't been right in the mind since Grandmother passed away so many years ago. Gïrnięn had heard his mother telling how Grandmother was the only thing that could break Grandfather. Though years ago he had braved Helgrind, the Boar's Eye, and the Empire for her, he now faced an undefeatable enemy—death.

"Grandfather, Grandmother passed away four years ago." Gïrnięn spoke.

"No!" Grandfather sat up abruptly. "Have you taken her? Tell me! Tell me!"

"My lord, please," a servant began, "retain at least some of your dignity."

"Katrina…" Grandfather started sobbing helplessly.

"Father." Gïrnięn looked up. A large woman, with strong bones entered the room. Her voice was strong and steady, with a hint of song. She turned to Gïrnięn. "I'll have a little chat with grandfather. Please don't eavesdrop. I'll know if you do. Go, wash up to prepare for the parade."

Gïrnięn hurried out the door and dressed himself in his finest clothes. Then Gïrnięn exited the door. A fanfare played as heralds tried to shout above each other. Gïrnięn allowed himself a small smile. The Rider's Parade had just begun.


	3. Chapter II

**Chapter II of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

Gïrnięn emerged from the hall, dressed in linen and satin. The parade began with the merry residents of Palancar Valley: skilled acrobats, stunt performers, and mere travelers who were curious of the goings on. Gïrnięn looked on at the jolly procession. Afterwards, came a couple of stunt acts. Finally, the most important part: Gïrnięn smoothed down his impatience as the heralds announced his arrival, not mentioning the countless other nobles of Palancar Valley.

"Gïrnięn Vadrensson, grandson of Roran Stronghammer, heir to Palancar Valley…"

Gïrnięn tuned out as the herald droned on and on. When the herald finished, he stepped onto the path laid out, walking along it in a perfectly composed manner. When he reached the end, he released his pent-up breath and waited for the other nobles to pass by.

"Ismira Katrinasdaughter, daughter of Roran Stronghammer, lady of Palancar Valley…"

Gïrnięn watched his mother proceed along the path, her velvet dress billowing around her. She was strong and stately, the perfect political figure. What everyone else didn't find were the way her eyes conveyed a worried feeling, the way her smile was so perfect it was superficial, the way her eyes lacked their usual laughter. Her copper locks billowed behind her, a result of her walking too quickly. She held her head higher than usual, Gïrnięn knew, to prevent it from drooping with worry. She reached the end of the path and stood there, her head held high.

Gïrnięn's father soon followed, his posture much more comfortable.

After all the nobles had finished walking the path, the moment arrived. The dragon eggs were taken down the path, where on both sides residents of Palancar Valley stood. The eggs were then placed on a raised stone altar. None of the eggs moved. The Riders would keep it there for an hour, then move on. This year the Rider hosting the parade was a tall elf, her cloak rippling across her slight frame. There were four dragon eggs, but the one that caught Gïrnięn's eye was a beautiful egg, a vibrant yellow, webbed with veins of bronze, amber, and gold. It was the color of sunshine, a beautiful sunglow. Gïrnięn decided that if he had a choice, he would choose that dragon as his companion. The other eggs, to Gïrnięn, were somewhat drab. One was a magenta egg, swirls of cerise and fuchsia dancing across it. Another was cyan, with blemishes of turquoise and cerulean dispersed on its glossy surface. The last egg was black, with streaks of silver and charcoal racing across its surface, along with beautiful pinpricks of pure white.

After the first forty-five minutes, most of the people had dispersed—they were no longer interested in the eggs. After another five minutes, Gïrnięn was left with only his parents and a few other curious nobles. Another five minutes, and it was just Gïrnięn and his family. During the final five minutes, the elf gave a slight nod of approval and gestured that they could leave. Gïrnięn, half disappointed, started to turn around when the dazzling yellow egg Gïrnięn had been admiring began to shake. It shook slowly at first, but then gained in speed. Tiny pinpricks of light shone through, eventually spreading into cracks. Finally, a small, wet thing looked up at Gïrnięn and spread its wings. Its scales were a radiant color, best described as somewhere between gold and sunglow. Its wings were a beautiful translucent amber, and its eyes were a deep, intelligent blue. It raised its head and touched Gïrnięn's hand. His palm glowed.

The elf approached, solemn.

"The gedwëy ignasia." Then she smiled. "Welcome, O Gïrnięn of the Riders."


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III of _Shadow_, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's _Inheritance_ _Cycle_.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**By the way, Thorn's title is "Bloodbiter", and Fírnen's title is "Leafwing"**

"All four have hatched, yes." Firnæ reported to a burly Urgal standing at the gate.

Gïrnięn sighed as Firnæ, the elf who had facilitated the parade reported to the sentry. The elf Jinaë had caused the magenta egg to hatch, the dwarf Orœthmis had claimed the cyan egg, and the Urgal Ÿreven had hatched the black egg. Jinaë was about as friendly as a Lethrblaka, Orœthmis seemed to pay as much attention to Gïrnięn as he would to a cloud, and Ÿreven's incessant boasting drove Gïrnięn crazy because he couldn't understand a word.

Firnæ finally got them inside the gate. After a week's travel on a ship, Gïrnięn still couldn't walk without wobbling, and Orœthmis was even worse off. The four of them shuffled inside the gate, ignoring each other. Had Gïrnięn mentioned the smell of carrion that still clung to Ÿreven, even after about five swims, he would've been pummeled. So he shut his mouth.

The hatchling had not had any way to communicate with him thus far, though she had grown slightly. Gïrnięn had spent the past week thinking about a suitable name for the hatchling. He had thought of a few, including Aureolin, Aurora, Aura, Amber, and Heliolampsh, but those were quite ordinary. Gïrnięn still had not thought of a good name. Gïrnięn was lost in thought when a voice spoke to him.

"Well, Gïrnięn?"

Gïrnięn looked up. A stout dwarf stood in front of him. The dwarf's flame-red beard caught Gïrnięn's attention. The dwarf looked at him.

"So you are the new recruit?"

Gïrnięn nodded.

"And you cannot even name the three Rider-Dragon pairs that, when channeling their energies together, change the fabric of magic? Have you never heard of the Rider Trinity?"

Gïrnięn was about to speak, but the dwarf cut him off.

"Eragon Shadeslayer-Saphira Bjartskular, Murtagh Kingkiller-Thorn Blödbitr, and Arya Dröttning-Firnen Laufvaengr. Don't they teach this anymore?"

As the timeworn dwarf seethed on and on about the education system, Orœthmis shook his head and stroked his hatchling, a beautiful cyan creature with scales that sparkled and shimmered. Patches of white rippled across his scales like clouds on a blue sky. The pale, icy blue eyes shimmered. Meanwhile, Jinaë telepathically spoke to her hatchling, the only one among who knew how to do so. Gïrnięn had heard Jinaë speak out loud while trying to teach her dragon to respond to verbal sounds. Jinaë had spoken to her reverently, and named her Chrosiuä. Chrosiuä had magenta scales stretching all over her gangly frame, with pink dappling her scales. Ÿreven kept glancing at his black hatchling, dappled with white spots like stars on a dark night.

An elf stepped out of the trees. His brown eyes were sharp and focused on Gïrnięn.

"Gïrnięn, Ÿreven, Jinaë, and Orœthmis." He spoke to each of them in turn, in their native languages. "I am Eragon Shadeslayer".

Gïrnięn squinted at the elf—that couldn't be right. His grandfather, Roran Stronghammer, was a human, yet this self-proclaimed Eragon, who should've been his grandfather's brother, was an elf. And a young elf, too. His grandfather was sixty and slightly senile. This elf was young, graceful, and wise beyond his years. Apparently Eragon found something interesting about Gïrnięn, because he squinted inquisitively at Gïrnięn.

"Tell me, Gïrnięn, who is your mother?"

"The Lady Ismira."

"Ah, so Roran is your grandfather. I should have known." Eragon nodded "And how is Roran doing? And Katrina?"

Gïrnięn desperately wanted to say," Grandfather's sixty and senile, while grandmother is long gone.", but he bit his tongue and instead choked out "They're fine."

Eragon studied Gïrnięn closely. "You can tell me the truth now, Gïrnięn." His tone was gentle but firm.

Gïrnięn shivered. How did this elf know he was lying? "Grandmother's dead, and Grandfather's gone insane because of it." Without realizing it, Gïrnięn's tone had become sarcastic.

Eragon sighed. "Roran… Of course, only Katrina could do this to him. Not even the Ra'zac, or the loss of Carvahall… Tis what all mortals fall prey to: loss." Eragon shook his head.

After Eragon had a little chat with the others, he beckoned over a slight elf. "Borges will take you on a tour of our island. Tomorrow we begin our lessons. But before we start, I'm going to tell you something…"

And so, in each of their native languages, Eragon told them how to speak telepathically with their dragon and how to shield their minds. After the tour, Gïrnięn engaged in a conversation with his dragon.

_Umm… hello?_

_Greetings to you, Gïrnięn. _The dragon replied.

_What should I call you?_

_Ah, a name… I had been pondering over a few, but I believe that I would like to be acknowledged as Cïtirinus._

_Cïtirinus… So you are male, then._

_Yes._

_Well, Cïtirinus, _Gïrnięn smiled. _Welcome to the world._


	5. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**Sorry for the delay, just that my life has to go on and my first draft was junk. Also, if you don't catch it, "Lednerg" is Grendel spelled backward. If you don't know about Grendel, look up Beowulf.**

Gïrnięn stepped into his classroom for magic guided by an older student, an elf. The elf turned around and glanced at Gïrnięn.

"Master Lednerg is ready to see you." The elf almost spat it out.

As he entered the room, Gïrnięn thought back to Eragon's reaction at Roran's senility. The old tales all told of Eragon being incredibly sentimental and moral. Eragon's response didn't exactly put much proof behind that. Cïtirinus noticed this stray thought and asked:

_You are surprised at Eragon's reaction?_

_You would be too, if you've heard tales of his emotion and morality all your life._

_I have been listening to them all my life, remember?_

_Speaking of your life, do you know your parents?_

_I have none._

_That cannot be._

_And yet, it has happened._

_How?_

_Last the Rider Trinity gathered, an "accident", or so everyone's told me, happened and I and the other three were created. I have suspicions of a fifth sibling, however, for one of the seniors accidentally let it slip from their thoughts._

_A fifth? But why would they keep that from you?_

_Perhaps something horrible and traumatic happened. I have no idea, but what other reason would they have?_

"Gïrnięn!"

Gïrnięn looked up at a tall, thin elf. His features were fair, like all other elves, but something in his gaze was malevolent and disturbing.

_Be cautious, Gïrnięn._

_I will._

"You cannot even pay attention for a second without your mind straying." The elf scoffed. "Well, then. You may call me Lednerg-ebrithil."

"I understand you are here to venture into the study of magic?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not sir. Master. Now then, hmm..." The elf scrutinized Gïrnięn carefully and suddenly a probing hand stretched out from a foreign mind. Gïrnięn panicked, and in his haste, he put up rudimentary barriers. However, the hand quickly penetrated his mind and searched all his memories. Finally, after a painful five minutes, the elf looked up. "No, you have no magic in you."

"However, you may be of some trivial use." Lednerg motioned to a bucket. "Fetch some water from the well with this container."

Gïrnięn picked up the metal bucket. It was cold as ice, and hard as flint.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Are humans truly that useless?"

Gïrnięn's face burned with both anger and embarrassment. He wasn't sure which feeling he should trust.

Gïrnięn rushed out of the room and the tree, running to the well on the west side of the island. Panting, Gïrnięn threw himself on the cold rhyolite.

_I knew it. I'm not good enough. I never was, just under an illusion my mind placed on me. My mind! My final sanctuary, my last place of privacy I could always sink into! And yet so easily combed by an inhuman being!_

After that everything was a blur. All Gïrnięn could later recall was the intense discomfort of his burning muscles and the hurry back to Lednerg. He could vaguely recall Lednerg's disappointment… at the bucket being empty? Gïrnięn's mind tried to right itself but failed. Now why would the bucket be empty? Sick and tired, Gïrnięn lay down on his cot and drifted off to a fretful and tormented slumber. The last thought that frantically flashed across his mind again and again was that of failure, atychiphobia, and kakorrhaphiophobia.


	6. Chapter V

**Chapter V of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

Gïrnięn rose from his cot and yawned. He checked the notches he had made in the earth beneath his quarters. Four and three-score notches. Four and three-score days. Gïrnięn looked up at the ceiling of his room. That was two months and three days. Sighing, Gïrnięn dressed, glancing at his roommates, a bizarre assortment of races lay out before him. The only characteristics this group had in common were their gender. Rows after rows of sleeping dwarves, Urgals, and a few entranced elves occupied the clean white cots. Gïrnięn reached out his mind to Cïtirinus and discovered that the sunny dragon was still asleep. A variety of dreams tumbled out to Gïrnięn, jumbled and tangled. There were dreams of darkness, and dreams of destruction. There were dreams of light and happiness, and order and jealousy. Though Gïrnięn had looked into Cïtirinus' dreams may times, he never failed to be astounded by the complexity, intelligence, and raw power of Cïtirinus' mind. Exiting the cabin, Gïrnięn stepped out into the dawn. The brilliance of the rising sun painted the sky rich crimsons and dancing oranges, bright yellows banishing the remnants of purple and violet night still possessed.

In the past months, Gïrnięn had worked off much of the excess fat from his frame, his muscles emerging to the front, the skin on his legs hardening to Cïtirinus' metallic scales. He had still made no progress with Lednerg, but his speed and pace increased, Gïrnięn began returning to the classroom with the bucket partially full. Lednerg still denied the buckets strange ability to drain, but Gïrnięn felt much more pleased with himself. Meanwhile, Cïtirinus had grown to the size of a large stag. Looking up, Gïrnięn realized that he felt contented.

"Well, well. Look who we have here… The student who failed four and three-score times when he was given a simple assignment."

Gïrnięn gritted his teeth as Lednerg's words tried to pierce his emotional barriers, tried to make him overstep his line.

"Well, I won't take it much longer. You either retrieve it today, or…" Lednerg twirled his long, spindly fingers in strange and esoteric ways, but what most disturbed Gïrnięn was the way the nails clicked together rhythmically, like a clock ticking the hours toward death. "Mmm… yes, if you fail, you shall be renounced as a Rider, and Master Eragon will… use his ways to separate you and Cïtirinus."

Gïrnięn had a short intake of breath. Could Eragon do that? After all, Eragon was one of the three who knew the Word…

Lednerg read Gïrnięn's mind, his fingers still clicking together steadily. "Yes, you know he is capable of such a thing." Lednerg's face twisted into a sneer. "And, at my request, he will do so."

Lednerg's cold, cruel fingers reached toward the bucket, and handed it to Gïrnięn. He then turned and picked up a ragdoll. The ragdoll was exquisite, and Gïrnięn may have even called it lovely but for three things. First, the doll had been crafted in the shape of Lednerg. Also, when lifted, its crystal nails clicked together much the same way the elf did himself. And finally, most disturbingly, its eyes were tiny black buttons, sewn above a cold and cruel smile.

"This will be my… watcher. He will make sure you don't cheat."

Tucking the disturbing doll in Gïrnięn's sleeve, where it touched the gedwëy ignasia, Lednerg uttered: "Be on your way. And do _not_, in any way, fail me."

Grimacing, Gïrnięn grasped the basket and exited the room. Making his way to the well, Gïrnięn screamed in frustration. Cïtirinus awoke to his thoughts.

_What happened, Gïrnięn?_

Gïrnięn conveyed Lednerg's grim message.

_It cannot be._

_But it is._

Gïrnięn shut off his mind and started gathering the water. Hauling the bucket up, Gïrnięn watched as, much quicker than before, the water drained away. Almost tearing his hair, Gïrnięn tried again. And again. And four times more. On his seventh try, Gïrnięn screamed with anger, fury, and resentment. He channeled all his hate for Lednerg and all his love for Cïtirinus together until he touched some remote nub in the back of his mind. Roaring, Gïrnięn mentally tore open the nub and dived into the flow that pulsed beneath and concentrated all his thoughts on one idea: transport a full bucket of water back to Lednerg. To Gïrnięn's surprise, the bucket rose out of the well and flew faster than Gïrnięn could ever run, in the direction of the classroom. Breathless, Gïrnięn started running toward the classroom.

When he arrived, Lednerg nodded with approval. "You've finally discovered magic. Good for you. The other two still have no idea that magic exists."

_Gïrnięn!_

_Cïtirinus?_

_Help, the pain…_

Gïrnięn felt a fresh wave of pain wash over him. The burning agony gripped his body, immobilizing it. Struggling, Gïrnięn closed off his mind.

"Cïtirinus! We need to get to him!"

Lednerg nodded and mentally broadcasted the thought. Gïrnięn, still struggling, fell to the floor, wracked in pain. The last word he heard before blacking out was "molting…"


	7. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI of _Shadow_, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's _Inheritance_ _Cycle_.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

When Gïrnięn woke, he felt a strange pulsing through the connection between his mind and Cïtirinus '. Gïrnięn tried to stand up, but a voice nearby murmured: "Stay down."

Gïrnięn's mind throbbed with residual pain. "W-What h-happened?"

A peal of laughter rang out, clear and sharp as air moving through a whistle. The sound cleared Gïrnięn's head and he looked up. The elf Jinaë looked down at him. "You didn't control your telepathy well enough," she teased. "That intense pain you experienced was flooding over from your dragon, amplified within your link because his perception of how much pain he was enduring was much more than the actual agony he experienced."

Gïrnięn sat up again, alarmed. "The pain was coming from Cïtirinus? Is he…"

"No."

Reassured but not entirely recovered, Gïrnięn asked: "What happened?"

Jinaë's face darkened. "A prank was played."

"A prank?"

"Someone cast a spell on your dragon that amplified the reaction of his nerves. In other words, the spell amplified Cïtirinus' sense of touch by..." The elf paused, considering. "I'd say about by four score times."

"What?!"

"However, the spell erased itself immediately after your dragon started molting—like a giant serpent. Behavior not seen in any other dragon, I may also point out. Anyways, the spell vanished without a trace, making it impossible to track down who did it, though the whole island is troubled because of it."

Gïrnięn gritted his teeth with frustration, and tapped into the empathetic bond between himself and Cïtirinus.

_Cïtirinus?_

_I'm here._

_What happened during the "molting?"_

_Is that what they're calling it?_

_Yes. Anything to say?_

_Basically I shed my skin._

_You what?_

_I shed my skin. They've already taken it to be tested for possible uses._

_Shed your skin… Like a snake._

_Yes, though I daresay my skin was thicker and tougher._

_Was it painful?_

_Painful?_ Something that reminded Gïrnięn of a cynical laugh passed through their bond. _No, itwasn't painful. It was pure agony._

_I think I know why._

Gïrnięn related the spell that was cast to the sunny dragon and almost fell to the ground as a primal fury surged through their bond. Quickly closing it before he could become infected with Cïtirinus' rage, Gïrnięn gingerly opened it once more to calm Cïtirinus.

_Woah, woah! Just calm down!_

_I will… identify this unknown… scum, and tear him into a thousand miniscule pieces, second by second, whilst burning him with my flame… no wait, that's too good for him…_

_You know, I have a good idea._

_You have a more torturous way to do it?_

_No… Let's just stay away from burning and tearing into things, okay?_

Anger and rage spilled over their bond, searing Gïrnięn's mind like the worst of flames.

_Flames…_

Out of nowhere, a giant, crackling noise sounds. Rushing to the window, Gïrnięn looked out as a large spout of yellow flame ascends into the sky, swirling, dancing, and crackling.

_His first flames!_

The pride of accomplishment warmed Gïrnięn's mind, but as the warmth faded, a cold unease pricked the back of his mind. Slowly, the pricking became ever more painful and ever frostier as it expanded in the back of his mind. A shadowy voice whispered:

_Descendant of Shadeslayer, we come for you. Ready yourself…_

Gïrnięn shivered. The voice was icy and tinged with malevolence, reminding him of a large reptile. A second voice, this one darker and more ancient, resounded in his mind.

_When streaks of amber touch the sky,_

_And day is slain by night;_

_The traitor is your closest friend,_

_And dark will banish light._


	8. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

Gïrnięn had waited a week for the skin of his eternal companion. Eragon-ebrithil had the skin sent to be made into a cloak. According to him, the cloak was heat resistant, also tough and hard to pierce. As the companion of the dragon, and with Cïtirinus' blessing, Eragon had it taken to the elves, so they could sing the cloak into shape. Subsequently, Cïtirinus' "brethren" had exhibited the same behavior, although with much less pain. The dwarf Orœthmis already had his cloak, a sparkling cyan with white wisps dancing on its surface, shifting and shimmering. Meanwhile, Eragon had already tried to track down the spell's caster, with little success. And all the while Gïrnięn still felt that dark reptilian tug at the back of his mind. The darkness refused to leave him, its residue simmering at the edges of his mind, working its way in, feeding on his worry and doubt… Gïrnięn's door crashed open. A breathless Urgal stood at the door, panting. He looked up, and Gïrnięn looked into his blazing eyes. They shone with terror.

"The dead… they're… coming…"

Gïrnięn's head shot up, first in surprise, then trying to laugh and trying to hold it in at the same time.

The Urgal must have seen the laughter in Gïrnięn's eyes, for he raised his monstrous head and simply replied, "Then you'll die."

The giant lumbered out of Gïrnięn's room. Traces of doubt tugged at his mind, and Cïtirinus tossed his mind in, frantic.

_Gïrnięn! They're coming… _Images of rotting corpses lurching forward flashed through his thoughts, tinted yellow.

Slightly panicking, Gïrnięn forced himself out of his now-empty room and looked outside. Horror grasped him as he caught his first full sight at the undead. An undead vulture spiraled out of the sky, gray flesh barely hanging to its whitened bones. Its cruel beak glimmered, and a worm poked out of one of its eye sockets. Some sort of fungus was still clinging to it. Gïrnięn took a second to wonder how he could see the tiny fungus, until he realized the demonic thing was upon him. Screaming _jierda_, Gïrnięn shattered the thing and clumps of flesh exploded and landed in his face. Wiping away the grisly material, Gïrnięn started helping with the defense of the island. He noticed that all the corpses were animals; no sentient race had been here long enough to consider burying their dead here. Shattering a bony hare, Gïrnięn looked up. The dragons were helping, swinging spiked tails and breathing large amounts of fire. He realized Cïtirinus' yellow flame and allowed himself a second of empathetic pride. However, the grisly things only rose up again and again, moving jerkily, like marionettes on strings.

Losing his concentration, Gïrnięn didn't notice the large bovine skeleton heading his way. Just as he was about to be gored by the wickedly sharp horns, he looked up and screamed, just as the thing stopped above him. It then shattered into pieces. Gïrnięn stood up, glancing around. The elf Jinaë stared at him impassively.

"Don't daydream, human. Next time I won't be there to save your sorry skin." Turning away, the elf melted back into the defenders.

Panting, Gïrnięn started repeating _jierda_ again and again to repel the undead. As a result, the undead surrounded him in a little circle of five meters. Any undead who stepped into the circle was immediately obliterated. Gïrnięn tired quickly, but the undead hordes kept coming. Falling unconscious, Gïrnięn's last thought was: _And to die at the hands of the dead. What irony._

Waking, Gïrnięn found himself lying on a cot, face to face with Jinaë.

"I thought I told you to stop daydreaming."

Gïrnięn moaned. "You know, you can be worse than the undead."

Jinaë's furious eyes burned into him. "You bet I could. If it was tolerated, I'd tear you into a million little pieces and throw you to the zombies."

Gïrnięn's mind shivered at the word _zombie_.

"Eragon-ebrithil's gone to investigate the undead attack. He left you this." She pointed to the cloak and slip resting on the table. "For some obscure reason, he's given you the 'permission slip' to claim your Rider's sword."

Gïrnięn ignored her after she started insulting him and looked at the table. The cloak was beautiful. Its sparkling yellow color was tempered by a golden glow that descended into amber by the edges of each scale, so that when it was shaken, its patterns moved in a hypnotic, kaleidoscopic fashion, almost like the sun radiating its rays outward. Donning it, Gïrnięn took the permission slip and stared at it, then tucked the parchment into a pocket on the inside of his cloak. Pulling down the hood, Gïrnięn stood up and exited the room, ready to receive his blade.

Arriving at the smith's place, Gïrnięn found Ÿreven on smith duty. The elf smith Rhunön extended her mind to control whoever was on smith duty, crafting a different sword for each Rider whenever a new one entered the island, retrieving their measurements and fighting styles from Eragon. Only with Eragon's permission slips were you allowed to retrieve one—Hence Orœthmis, is his shimmering cyan cloak, guarding the door. Orœthmis nodded briefly at Gïrnięn's cloak, and, once shown the permission slip, let him in.

"Let's see, code GV-0001. Looks like you're the only one with those initials, human." Orœthmis led Gïrnięn down the aisles of blades, hanging, waiting to be claimed. "I got my own permission slip just this morning, and I was OB-6345."

Gïrnięn ignored the dwarf, glancing down the rainbow of blades, each glittering with its deadly shimmer.

"The blades are alphabetized by your name first, then your parent's name. Then they are sorted numerically," The dwarf explained. "Let's see, GQ, GT… Aha. GV." Gïrnięn looked up at his blade, hanging there. The sword was a brilliant yellow, radiant with color. The hue darkened to amber at the edges, mimicking Cïtirinus' scales and underscales. It was hand and a half, dark leather wrapping the grip. The cross-guard was golden to match the blade, and the pommel was inset with a single citrine. Gïrnięn stepped forward and claimed it.

"Good. Now you just have to let Rhunön-Ÿreven work on it. Rhunön keeps complaining about how clumsy Ÿreven's body is." Orœthmis turned and started walking towards the Urgal. Following, Gïrnięn carried his sword and scabbard, affixed to a golden belt. Walking up to Ÿreven, Gïrnięn quickly went over a list of names for the blade with Cïtirinus.

_Ignasia?_

_Very manly._

_Garjzla?_

_Now, that's so cheesy, it sounds like a cheese._

_Islingr?_

_You'd invoke concerns about copyrights with Vrael._

_Bleikr?_

_Can't you think of _anything _better?_

_Kuldr?_

_You're hopeless_

_Solus-harmr?_

Cïtirinus fell silent.

"Well then?" Rhunön's impatience expressed through Ÿreven's vocal chords was more than amusing. It took all Gïrnięn's discipline not to laugh.

"Solus-harmr."

"Hmm…" Ÿreven–Rhunön waved a hand at the blade. A rune appeared on it, graceful and elegant.

"There." He smiled. "Sun-sorrow."


	9. Chapter VIII

**Chapter VIII of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**In case you wanted to know, Gïrnięn is pronounced gir-NI-en, Cïtirinus is pronounced phonetically, Jinaë is pronounced GEE-nay-ee, Ÿreven is pronounced ee-REV-en, and Orœthmis is pronounced oh-ROW-zee-miss.**

**Also, in real life, a giant sequoia is approximately forty-seven times the height of a grown man, which is what I used here, for dragons.**

A cold wind whipped at Gïrnięn's face. Looking up, he saw the first leaves of autumn falling. Everyone on the island had waited almost four months by now for Eragon's return. Several other teams had been sent out, but either they didn't return, or didn't find him. Gïrnięn sighed. There had been two more undead attacks, but no one knew where they were coming from. No one had yet figured out how necromancy was possible, much less at this scale. Magic was merely the manipulation of energy, and trying to move an animal's limbs at great distances and large numbers seemed impossible.

Staring at Solus-harmr, Gïrnięn thought about the dark reptilian voice, what he now called Shadow. It seemed to like that name, sending waves of mental euphoria through his mind whenever it was thought of. Shadow had intruded into his consciousness now, rising from the subconscious to whisper dark thoughts in his ear. In other words, Shadow was the polar opposite of Cïtirinus. Gïrnięn had drawn closer to the dwarf Orœthmis over the last few months, and had discovered—Shadow lurked in Orœthmis' thoughts too, though Orœthmis termed Hreth. The Urgal Ÿreven had also spoken to Orœthmis, reporting a certain Ithrö that lurked in his subconscious, though no other residents of the island reporting knowing of or hearing of such a thing, with the exception of the tight-lipped elves. It irked Gïrnięn that he couldn't prove only the Riders of Cïtirinus' siblings were being affected by Shadow—Jinaë still refused to talk.

Leaning against a stout oak, Gïrnięn telekinetically started throwing pebbles with _stenr trautha. _Mulling over his thoughts, Gïrnięn didn't notice when the messenger pigeon landed on his shoulder. He _did _notice when it screeched in his ear. Annoyed, Gïrnięn peeled the note off of the bird's legs and peered at it.

_Go to the island's west shore tonight, when the moon reaches its zenith. Alert no one. A boatman will be there to ferry you and the other three across to the mainland. Bring your dragon. Once you have reached the mainland, enter the island's first defense: the maze of trees. Turn left whenever you see a pine, and right when you see ash, but go straight all other times to enter the labyrinth's center. Your dragon will not be able to fly over, so have them wait at the entrance. In the center, open the chest and take the underground passage. Follow it, and when you have reached the other end, summon your dragon with your mind. There, someone will answer your questions._

_-Eragon_

Casting his mind out, Gïrnięn found Cïtirinus.

_Cïtirinus? We have a task to perform._

Gïrnięn watched the moon carefully. Though everyone in dormitory B-49 was asleep, he didn't want to take any chances. Stripping off his nightshirt, he quickly slipped into his clothes. Donning his dragoncloak, Gïrnięn slipped on the belt that carried Solus-harmr and crept out silently with _hljödhr_. When he reached the door that led outside, he folded down his hood and started running. Reaching the west shore, he spotted two other cloaked figures. One seemed to be an Urgal, with horns poking out of his hood and waves of stench rolling off him, another seemed to be a dwarf, short and stout. Waiting, a fourth figure came toward them, and by its patient stride, Gïrnięn deduced that it was an elf. Without a word, the four of them waited, as one by one, their dragons came forward. By then, Gïrnięn had deduced that the others were Jinaë, Orœthmis, and Ÿreven. After what seemed like days, a small vessel started rowing towards them. When it reached the four, the ferryman beckoned towards them with a gnarled, old hand. Silently, the four boarded the craft and the ferryman started rowing them across.

When Gïrnięn reached the mainland, he looked up in awe at the maze of trees, or formally, Arborlabyrinthus. Looking at gigantic sequoias reaching their boughs up to the sky like thousands of fingers tipped with green, Gïrnięn shuddered. Though the width was the same of any giant sequoia, these trees were seven-and-two-score times the height of Cïtirinus. Shuddering, Gïrnięn entered, with Jinaë, Ÿreven, and Orœthmis trailing behind him, in that order. Cïtirinus, Chrosiuä the magenta dragon, Spinelius the cyan dragon, and Asterdiopsidus the black dragon waited at the entrance patiently. Gïrnięn muttered to himself as he tried to tell pine from ash. Somehow, after what seemed like days, Gïrnięn found himself in the center of the labyrinth, a large clearing with eight pathways radiating from it. The clearing, however, was exactly that—there was virtually nothing there.

Ÿreven shuffled around him, and in a crude imitation of the Ancient Language, asked, "Master Eragon mentioned a chest? Where is it?"

Jinaë walked over to one of the sequoias at the edge of the clearing and muttered, "It should be hidden somewhere here."

Orœthmis started digging with magic. "Perhaps underground. We were asked to find a subterranean passage."

Looking around, Gïrnięn started inspecting each tree carefully as Ÿreven joined Orœthmis in his task.

_Come on, come on._

Cïtirinus noticed.

_Let me try._

_You? How?_

Suddenly, Cïtirinus' mind intruded into Gïrnięn's. Instinctively fighting it, Gïrnięn soon relaxed as Cïtirinus ran Gïrnięn's hands across the rough bark.

_There._

As Cïtirinus left his mind, Gïrnięn found an indentation. Sticking his fingers in, he slid the bark apart to reveal a hidden space. Inside sat a scroll. Opening it, he found it was written in the Ancient Language. Turning around, he saw Jinaë looking at him expectantly. Sighing, Gïrnięn handed the scroll over.

Jinaë began reading from it. (Translated from the Ancient Language) "So, you've found the chest. Now, pinpoint the exact center of the clearing, and when you're there, say 'take me to the other end' in the Urgal language. You will be transported to your desired destination."

Jinaë began speaking a spell, and thousands of lines started radiating from a single point in glowing magenta. Ÿreven strode over and started emitting guttural sounds. Slowly, the trees around them rose higher and higher—until Gïrnięn realized they were sinking. The phrase must have triggered a spell. A blinding flash of blue light suddenly sprang into existence, tormenting Gïrnięn's eyes. After five excruciating seconds, Gïrnięn found himself in a subterranean chamber. Alone. Stumbling through the tunnels, Gïrnięn suddenly found himself in a circular chamber. A withered corpse lay on the ground, while the others laid in unconscious heaps on the other side of the room. Gïrnięn started walking toward them, but tripped over the corpse. Looking back, Gïrnięn suddenly found a cold, dead hand grasping his ankle. The corpse rose its grotesque face to stare at him, miniature flames burning in its dead eyes. A disembodied voice cackled from its depths, a sound that would not have disgraced the screams of a tortured man.

In a hoarse, dry whisper that sounded like metal grinding on stone he said, "You're late! Where have you been? The fun's started without you!"


	10. Chapter IX

**Chapter IX of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**Urakr-lotha is a bad translation of "clear sky". It actually means "no-wet sky", wet as in rain. Garjzla-dreyma means "light-illusion", because magenta is an optical illusion. Watch watch?v=S9dqJRyk0YM to figure it out. Sundavr-dwervasolus comes out as "shadow-nightsun", nightsun referring to the moon, so that a better translation would be moon shadow.**

Gïrnięn watched in horror as the corpse staggered toward him, twinned liquid emerald fires pooling in its eyes, its tattered cloak dragging behind him, its skeletal frame bumping up against itself, its hoarse laughter filling the chamber. Stifling a scream, Gïrnięn backed away, picking up Solus-harmr.

"S-stay away!" Gïrnięn yelled.

The corpse's decaying teeth grinded together in an attempt to laugh. Two fell out. "Tsk, tsk. So this is how Eragon teaches his students?" The creature feigned surprise. "Look at you, a sniveling little wimp with a blade. He really should have done better."

Peals of dark giggling rolled from the corpse's rotting mouth. With a battle cry that came out as a scream, Gïrnięn swung Solus-harmr. Landing with a resounding crack, Gïrnięn faltered as the peals of sickly laughter stopped abruptly. They started up again just as suddenly.

A disembodied voice rang across the room. "Well, well, well. Our little warrior has just signed his death warrant."

With a start, Gïrnięn recognized the voice. "Show yourself, Shadow!" He cried defiantly.

His only answer was more peals of sickly giggling. Suddenly, Gïrnięn noticed the severed head of the corpse rolling towards him. The remaining skin peeled off and the skull underneath grinned at him. Then it opened its mouth and waves of dark energy rolled off of it. Energy that seeped into Gïrnięn's bones, bringing its freezing cold and stinging pain. Gïrnięn felt a vile taste in his mouth. Somehow, he recognized it as the taste of death. Sinking into a darkness of doom and despair, Gïrnięn gave in to the darkness. Suddenly, a splash of gold streaked across the black, repelling it and expanding until the black had been driven away from Gïrnięn's vision. Rubbing his eyes, Gïrnięn sat up to see Jinaë and Orœthmis sitting up, but not Ÿreven. The Urgal's head hung low, his horns drooping almost imperceptibly. From his throat came a series a primeval, guttural, sounds. Abruptly, the Urgal's head snapped up. The eyes were milky and tinte d green. Ÿreven kept speaking his native language, the words sounding guttural and ugly. Standing up and lurching toward his companions, Ÿreven didn't notice when Orœthmis snuck up and hit him hard on the back of his head with the flat of his one handed short sword Urakr-lotha.

The aquamarine in the pommel gleamed as it came down. Jinaë just stared, sheathing her hand-and-a-half longsword Garjzla-dreyma. The rhodochrosite that rested in her pommel glowed, carved in the likeness of a rhododendron. Gïrnięn suddenly noticed that the sphere of obsidian on the pommel of Ÿreven's double-handed broadsword Sundavr-dwervasolus was glinting. Looking down, he realized the citrine on his pommel was also shining. Beams of light shot out of each pommel, pooling in the center of the room. Gïrnięn watched in wonder as the light slowly converted itself into dark energy, pooling and creating a giant sphere. Instinctively, Gïrnięn jerked his arm. He watched in equal parts wonder and horror as the corpse on the ground jerked its arm. Stepping forward, he watched as the corpse mimicked his exact move. Gasping, Jinaë turned and looked at him. The corpse did the exact same thing. Ÿreven, now revived, clambered up from the ground. The corpse did its best to imitate him. Gïrnięn, shocked, turned toward Orœthmis.

"I think we've just discovered the secret of necromancy."

Jinaë started giving the corpse verbal commands. "Lead us out of here. Now."

The corpse jerked up, and, picking its head up and setting it on its head, started shuffling towards one of the passageways. Gïrnięn turned around and threw a questioning glance in the general direction of Orœthmis. Orœthmis replied with a shrug and started walking after the corpse. Gïrnięn followed, leaving only Ÿreven behind. Grumbling, Ÿreven started after them. The walls of the labyrinth were made of smooth obsidian, in which their reflections shone. Gïrnięn studied his image. His dirty mop of golden-brown hair was disheveled, his golden eyes unfocused. His dragon-scale cloak hung low, weighted down by dust, debris, and corpse dust. His jerkin was even worse, torn and ripped. As he studied his reflection, he suddenly noticed that the walls were in fact thin partitions, behind which stacks of corpses were piled in twisted positions, eternally trapped in a macabre dance. Shivering at the grisly catacombs, Gïrnięn looked forward once more, as the floor slowly slanted upwards. Thousands of skulls grinned at him. Turning away, Gïrnięn noticed a faint speck of light ahead, natural light, not the green light floating amongst them. The skeletons danced their unnatural, convoluted dance around him, masterful contortionists forever immersed in their act. As the speck of light grew to an opening, fresh waves of air assaulted Gïrnięn's nostrils, providing a welcome change to the stench of death and decay.

Emerging from the passage, Gïrnięn stopped walking. It was dawn, Aiedail's light slowly fading away. Then he looked at his surroundings. He was on a gentle rise, the grass swaying in the morning breeze. Looking around, he started running, in no particular direction, just taking in the crisp morning air and the rhythmic swaying of the grass. Laughing and sobbing simultaneously, Gïrnięn flung himself into the grass and melted into the world around him. Standing up from the man-shaped indentation in the grass, Gïrnięn started walking towards the summit of the hill, hoping to get a better view. He stopped abruptly. Underneath him sprawled a giant white city, basking in the sun's first rays. The city, upon closer inspection, revealed scorch marks and certain ruins on its outskirts. Frowning, Gïrnięn stepped forward and almost fell. He was on an overhang. A massive overhang. He was in Illirea. Hearing a noise from behind him, Gïrnięn started—and felt his foot step into empty space. The next second he was falling. Falling to his death.


	11. Chapter X

**Chapter X of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**I'm thinking about changing the title, if you're interested in voting, please enter a suggestion in the comments. I will pick one to change my title to. Alternatively, you can vote to keep the title the same. Thanks for your support! Special credit to Naerys Targaryen and , who have followed me for so long!**

**Because this is the tenth chapter, I'm giving you something special that will happen every ten chapters—a third person limited viewpoint of an unknown character (I'm not giving away who it is) before the main storyline.**

"**Eka bidja framvír du Daéda abr Dauthí." is translated as "I beg before the Lord of Death."**

A dark shape twisted and writhed in its nest, the putrid stink of death and decay surrounding it. The rotting corpses of countless unknown surrounded it, as it breathed in the sickly sweet smell of rot, wreathed with the triumph of victory. It turned its first head around at the sound of a prey-creature scrambling around the undergrowth. Absentmindedly, one of the other heads darted out and picked up a large hare, ripping into it. The stomach was shared by all four heads, so only one needed to eat. One of the heads almost impaled itself on its own spines while trying to reach back and groom itself. Grumbling, it looked up at the half rotting figure lurching out of the shadows. The thing opened its mouth. Slowly, a rasping voice poured out.

"Lord Letæst calls on you."

"For what purpossssssse?" The dark, distinctively reptilian voice poured out its throat.

The corpse managed a gruesome grin. "Assassination."

The sensation of freefalling was disconcerting—especially when your surroundings were constantly shifting. Gïrnięn looked up uncomfortably as his surroundings shifted. At first they'd been more realistic: castles, towers, forts, keeps, knights… Then they'd shown him wondrous things: an army of slaves building gigantic golden monuments, a wall that stretched to the horizon, a gigantic statue of a god, people in strange and foreign clothing walking about, speaking into small boxes that had constantly shifting appearances… Now they had degenerated into intricate geometric patterns, the colors of the visible spectrum flashing on lines against a black background, constantly opening and closing. And through all this, they were rapidly heading up, which could only mean one thing—he was still falling. Without solid ground to stand on, Gïrnięn felt a little strange that he was going to die falling down an endless tunnel. He could repeatedly hear his name being sang, in a sweet, lyrical manner, but also full of sorrow—that is, funeral music. Sighing, he resigned himself to falling, when, suddenly, his body met with solid ground. However, his surroundings were completely black. Rising from where he lay prostrate on the ground, Gïrnięn stood up—to see that the black had melted away, to be replaced by a maze of obsidian mirrors. Looking at the reflections around him, Gïrnięn stepped forward and, as he set his foot down, just a bit too heavily, cracks started to spread. Slightly afraid and anxious to escape, Gïrnięn lightly stepped down the hall, only to find himself somehow in an obsidian cubicle, with infinite reflections of himself around him. Desperate, Gïrnięn drew Solus-harmr and struck the wall beside him. It vibrated resonantly, filling the cubicle with sound. As the cubicle vibrated, the obsidian started cracking, and shards of it fell from the ceiling. Gïrnięn suddenly realized that he was about to be buried alive, and jumped out of the way as more shards rained down, littering the floor like dark, reflective, decaying, bones. Accidentally backing into a wall, Gïrnięn turned in absolute horror as the wall cracked, then shattered outward, bursting open. Shielding himself from under his cloak, Gïrnięn looked up as a figure burst through the opening. Squinting with surprise, he realized that the figure was himself, though tinted black. The thing took one look at him, and suddenly multiplied to hundreds. Screaming and wailing, more reflections tried to claw their way out of their obsidian prisons, closer and closer to succeeding. Wailing with despair, Gïrnięn desperately tossed his mind at the reflections, though it was no use—he received only something that was cold, hard, and blank. Panicking, Gïrnięn flung his mind out randomly, trying to halt himself. He watched with equal parts horror, wonder, and revulsion as the Gïrnięn-shadows flesh fell off, revealing bare bone underneath. Their faces were fixed in leering, ghoulish grins—the grin of death. Screaming, he instinctively reached for Cïtirinus, and found contact.

_Cïtirinus!_

_What happened? All of a sudden you were out of range, so we flew to try and find you. What are you doing so in the eastern Beor Mountains?_

_So I'm not in Illirea?_

_No! You're down there somewhere. Here, I'll take your senses and see what you're doing._

Suddenly, everything melted away as a flash of yellow penetrated the darkness. Gïrnięn stood up, looking at the wind howling around him. Apparently he and the others and parted ways unintentionally. Looking back at the gaping hole, he shivered. Apparently the labyrinth could cast illusions on you. Looking up, he sighted Cïtirinus spiraling overhead, about to dive. He waved his arm, even though he knew he didn't have to. As Cïtirinus landed, kicking up large clouds of dust, Gïrnięn moved forward to envelop the adolescent dragon in an awkward embrace. Cïtirinus sat down, signaling Gïrnięn to mount him.

_Cïtirinus?_

_Yes?_

_Let's go find the others._

Gïrnięn lay in his bedroll, exchanging the day's events with Cïtirinus. Sighing with pleasure after the deer that Cïtirinus had caught, Gïrnięn fell into a peaceful sleep.

Darkness surrounded him, as leering, ghoulish grins peeked out from everywhere. Lurching back, Gïrnięn bumped into a cloaked figure. From behind him, a voice of a corpse slithered out.

"Lord Letæst rex, Lord Supreme of Death, Archduke of Misery, King of Illusion, and Prince of Pain issues to you and your companions a formal challenge. The Trinity Council has selected a champion to meet you at noon on the eve of last day of this year. The lord of undeath shall be present, watching the tournament. If your champion dies, we shall be free to control Illirea; while if our champion dies, our forces will retreat to the edge of the Western Ocean, and the Supreme Lord will vow not to intrude upon this land again. If you agree to comply, speak into this…" The corpse handed Gïrnięn a glittering skull crafted from the finest obsidian. The surface seemed to dance with the contorted faces of tortured spirits. "These exact words: 'Eka bidja framvír du Daéda abr Dauthí.'"

And then… everything went dark.


	12. Chapter XI

**Chapter XI of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**I'm thinking about changing the title, if you're interested in voting, please enter a suggestion in the comments. I will pick one to change my title to. Alternatively, you can vote to keep the title the same. Thanks for your support!**

Gïrnięn was flying on a giant winged sunbeam. That's what Cïtirinus appeared to be anyway, as he zipped across the heavens, meticulously scanning each peak. So far, they had found no sign of the others, and were beginning to lose hope that they were even alive. As Cïtirinus landed, Gïrnięn dismounted and began to set up camp. They wanted to stay out of sight of the dwarves. Gïrnięn didn't think dwarves would take kindly to strangers stealing their Feldûnost. Gïrnięn had objected, but they couldn't find better meat around, and the giant Nagra were too large for Cïtirinus. Wandering in the snowcapped Beor Mountains had been their routine for the last few days, but Cïtirinus could only survey the lower foothills. The tough, sturdy evergreens blocked Cïtirinus' sight, their wild green spreading away like a thick carpet, contrasting with the purple tinge of the mountains and the bright blue of the sky. White mist wreathed the land just above the forest, making the difficult task near impossible. This was the fifth day now they had been searching, and they still couldn't find the threesome. By now, Gïrnięn couldn't tell what had been real and what had been illusion. He wasn't sure if he trusted Eragon anymore, either.

Muttering curses under his breath, Gïrnięn unsheathed Solus-harmr and started gathering firewood. Looking up into the boughs of the trees, he sighed. Then he blinked. Wiping his eyes, he stared up again. A shadowy shape lurked on one of the branches, its glowing eyes fixated on him. With a harsh cry that imitated the sound of stone grinding against bone, it flapped away into the sky. Shivering, Gïrnięn moved the firewood with a quick spell, and headed back to camp.

A dark shape writhed in front of Gïrnięn. Reminded of the terrible challenge he'd been issued, Gïrnięn stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. Everything was wreathed in darkness, and a large, writhing mass shifted its weight to sit more comfortably on what seemed to be decaying corpses. As a large earthworm slithered out of an eyehole, it was suddenly snatched up. Looking up, Gïrnięn saw that the bird he had seen earlier was pecking at the still writhing worm. The dark mass hissed at it, and the bird landed. The bird's gleaming eyes peered closely at the dark mass and seemed to whisper something to it. A horrible hissing noise crept out of the thing's throat.

"_He is… still there?"_

The bird screeched once.

"_Ah… I shall send the men to test him. The others have all escaped from them, but I am… interested to see what will happen to the poor, foolish boy." _Once again the horrible hissing noise slid out of its mouth. "_You will… ensure that my brother will be… occupied?"_

The bird screeched again.

"_Hmm…" _The dark thing seemed to twist around, but its bulk was so large it was hard to tell. Gïrnięn squinted his eyes. It almost seemed like parts of its body were moving in different directions. The thing made a triumphant sound—Gïrnięn guessed he was grinning horribly.

"_It's very rude to eavesdrop, you know. Do we need to… punish you?"_

Scrambling backwards, Gïrnięn suddenly found himself freefalling. Screaming, he watched as the dark thing's eye glitter at him. Once.

"_I'll be… coming for you… soon."_

Waking from his fitful dream, Gïrnięn looked around. It was still dark, and the owls were still hunting. After a few moments, he got up and scrambled into the miniature taiga in the foothills. Running far into the woods, he relieved himself. Then, breathing in the cool, fresh, night air, he started hiking. It felt strange to be hiking in nothing but his underclothes and his leather cloak, but he couldn't sleep and needed the exercise. Spinning around, he bumped straight into an arrow—almost. The projectile whizzed by just a centimeter above his head.

Suddenly on alert, Gïrnięn tried made mental contact with Cïtirinus as arrows whizzed out of the trees like swarms of mosquitoes, ready to slurp his blood. Strangely, Cïtirinus' mind was blank. Cursing, Gïrnięn clambered up a tree into its highest boughs, muttering a spell at the five men gathered around the roots. Four of the men had their necks broken instantly, the fifth was bound by the air pressure around him.

Sliding down the trunk, Gïrnięn started intruding into the man's mind. The first thing he felt was a wall. The man was reciting a piece of poetry to himself over and over. Memorizing the words, Gïrnięn started speaking random words to disturb the sequence of his thoughts. Finally, Gïrnięn broke through, only to hit something with a decayed feel. He almost sunk into the mind, but quickly pulled himself out. The man seemed to be casting a spell. Peering in, Gïrnięn's heart suddenly leapt up into his mouth as he realized what spell the man was trying to cast. Quickly extricating himself, Gïrnięn tried to think of a spell as white bones peeked out of the earth, rotting scraps of flesh still clinging to them. Dozens of dead birds, Feldûnost, and Nagra appeared, emerald fires burning in dark sockets.

Screaming _jierda_, Gïrnięn started shattering the undead, however, he was tiring quickly. Cïtirinus' mind was still incapacitated. Looking up at the stars, Gïrnięn muttered a final, desperate prayer to Aiedail, and started drawing energy from the citrine in Solus-harmr's pommel.

Just when Gïrnięn was about to collapse from fatigue, suddenly, a magenta blade flashed down and smashed through the creatures. Gïrnięn looked up in wonder to see Jinaë, dismounted from Chrosiuä, slashing through the things and muttering spells to keep them down. After about nine seconds, the bones stopped twitching and the threat was over. Gïrnięn looked up at a grimly smiling Jinaë.

"Now that I saved your sorry behind, why don't we go find Orœthmis and Ÿreven?"

That night, Gïrnięn shaped a flat stone with magic in the shape of a frying pan and, after jointing the deer carcass, cut the carcass into bite sized pieces. Jinaë used seasoned flour stored in her pack and water from a nearby stream for a thin batter, then dipped the meat in and put it in the frying pan, greased with Jinaë's small supply of margarine. Tossing in some herbs he scavenged nearby, Gïrnięn watched as the batter slowly transition from cream to golden brown. The herbs were arranged randomly, and the ones in the center slowly browned. Scooping up a piece of breaded meat, Gïrnięn quickly inserted it into his mouth, feeling the warm, buttery taste roll over his taste buds, in sharp contrast with the bitter herbs. The meat was chewy, and slid down his throat easily. Finishing the meal, he glanced questioningly at Jinaë.

Jinaë spread her hands helplessly. "Ÿreven should be easy to find enough, with the stench of carrion probably still clinging to him," she said, "And Orœthmis has probably found shelter with the dwarves, but _you_, were almost assassinated." Her stare become fixated on him. "What makes you so important?"


	13. Chapter XII

**Chapter XII of **_**Shadow**_**, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's **_**Inheritance**__**Cycle**_**.**

**Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!**

**I'm thinking about changing the title, if you're interested in voting, please enter a suggestion in the comments. I will pick one to change my title to. Alternatively, you can vote to keep the title the same. Thanks for your support!**

**Because today is a triple vernal equinox, supermoon, and solar eclipse, I've decided to introduce a new species, or race, as they are known in the **_**Inheritance Cycle**_**. Something a little macabre, in profuse amounts. Also, enjoy the tripe weave of perspectives!**

**I have to give Neil Gaiman's **_**Coraline**_** some credit for part of the **_**Volans Scolopendra**__**.**_

Orœthmis was lost in his ancestral home. In the labyrinth, after the secret of the corpse was revealed, suddenly the ceiling had collapsed. Tons of earth had buried him. He shivered, remembering his lungs slowly collapsing, the cold earth compressing them to their limit. A deep dweller had dug him out, nursed his bruised body back to health. The deep dweller, Hadrik, sent out a call for Orœthmis' clan, the honored Dûrgrimst Ebardac: the Dwarf Clan dedicated to research. Traveling to his ancestral home had been hard enough, even with the series of guides the deep dweller had led him to. Now, after having successfully arrived, he needed to find Gïrnięn and the others. He remembered finding his parents that night, and his mother's delight at seeing him again. His father had just shook his head and asked if he'd failed somehow. Orœthmis shook his head thinking about it. Leaving his parents to their alchemy and studies, he had packed supplies and journeyed into the heart of the mountain. Now, he sat and wailed in despair, looking at the seemingly endless grid of tunnels. The darkness was only illuminated by only a small lantern Orœthmis was carrying. After what seemed like years, Orœthmis stood and packed his belongings. Then he heard the rasping call of the voice, the voice that had been gone for so long. It whispered in his mind, seeking to control him, venom dripping from its every word.

_So… we meet again…_

Gïrnięn was flying over Surda, his head churning. Ever since he had found Jinaë, Shadow had crept back into his mind, whispering its ever venomous words, hissing at Gïrnięn's every decision. Even the decision to leave Orœthmis and Ÿreven to their own devices and go to the place where Eragon had told all his students where they could contact him if they were ever traveling.

_So… enjoyed that lull, did you? Don't you worry, I was only taking care of some other prey._

_Who?_

_Your little… dwarf friend. He is already… controlled…_

Gïrnięn wanted to scream. Desperately. Even as the desert passed beneath him, he still felt cold. Too cold.

_Ssss… Now… the _Volans Scolopendra _will come soon… And guarantee your death…_

Cïtirinus barged into his mind. _Look down!_

Gïrnięn looked down and took in a breath. The land in front of him was scorched and burned, tongues of searing flame leaping from the ground like some sort of a predatory animal awaiting its prey. This was the land of the epic first battle between Murtagh and Eragon. They had arrived at the Burning Plains.

Ÿreven looked up at the sky. He was exhausted, and he didn't think Asterdiopsidus was exactly energetic, working day and night to reach the Spine. In the labyrinth, once the corpse had been commanded by Jinaë, he got sucked into the floor. He shivered, remembering the dank smell of the chute hidden beneath it, where he had slid for almost hours. Asterdiopsidus had found him in the northwestern Beors, and had tried to fly him to his family. Rage swelled up within Ÿreven when he thought of the incident. He had failed Firesword's assignment! And now he would return in shame, being the laughingstock of everyone.

_It won't be that bad._

Asterdiopsidus' consciousness was most easily visualized by Ÿreven as an infinite black pool, stretching in every direction. His consciousness seemed to swim in the molasses-like liquid, calmed by the endless stretch of ebony.

_Yes, it will. You know almost nothing of our honor._

_After what you've been through, I would rest at simply being safe. That's most important, isn't it?_

_Yes… I guess…_

_Well, well… Look who we have here! Another victim ready for slaughter… as Lord Letæst has commanded…_

Ÿreven immediately recognized the mocking tones of Shadow. While Asterdiopsidus' darkness was soothing and calming, Shadow's malevolent aura made the hairs on the giant's neck stand up.

_You again!_ Ÿreven was taken aback; Asterdiopsidus _never_ got angry. Not ever since Ÿreven had known him.

_What are _you _doing here?_ Asterdiopsidus spat "you" out like it was a piece of carrion he'd almost swallowed.

_Don't worry: I'm just here to trigger the swarm._

Just like that, Shadow was gone. Ÿreven looked up, then blinked. A dark cloud was approaching, and it seemed that it was moving of its own volition. Then he saw the suckers.

Orœthmis bumped into a stalactite. The sudden return of Shadow was too much for him. Spinelius, noticing his concern, voiced a distant thought.

_You're back?_

_Yes… if only to trigger the swarms…_

_Fight me, you scum!_

Waves of dismissiveness washed over the mental contact. _Really… All of my siblings are the same, foolish bravado clouding their rational judgement._

_Siblings?_ Orœthmis tried to shut that thought down, but Shadow had noticed it already.

_Ah… yes, carelessness on my side. I apologize for that. Now… _

A mental claw grasped at Orœthmis' brain, trying to grasp it and leach all its information. Fighting back, Spinelius added his strength to the battle. Orœthmis extended his own mental appendage, clawing at Shadow's malevolent mind. Eventually, Shadow relented.

_Ssss… It's all right… the _Volans Scolopendra _will come soon…_

_The what?_

Dark pulses of mental laughter emanated from Shadow's mind. _Don't worry, you'll get acquainted with the locust-scorpion-centipede-leeches soon enough…_

_Locust-scorpion-centipede leeches?_

_They breed at a miraculous rate. Their queen has directed her swarm to you. Don't worry, they'll come to you soon enough._

Shadow had disappeared.

Orœthmis looked up at the stalactites instinctively. Miniature black clouds started swarming through the cracks in the rock. The clouds churned and boiled, swarming down upon Orœthmis. Screams could be heard by the deep dwellers that night

Cïtirinus landed, Chrosiuä following suit. As Gïrnięn dismounted and surveyed the landscape, a tongue of flame spurted up from the ground a few centimeters away. Jumping away in shock, Gïrnięn then recovered his wits and looked around for the object. Wandering around in a drunkard's walk, he surveyed the land, searching for the bugle. Finally, he spotted it. A simple instrument, the bugle was made of light aluminum, etched with glyphs that spelled out Eragon's name.

He picked it up and blew into it. Then he waited. And waited.

_This is strange._

_What?_

_Eragon-ebrithil's should appear in the ground by now—the bugle was enchanted with the Word._

_So, why isn't he showing up?_

_Wait… what's that?_

Gïrnięn was looking into the sky while thinking. A strange cloud drifted across the sky, faster than it should have. The cloud swooped down, coming at Gïrnięn. Trying to avoid the cloud, Gïrnięn stepped backward, slipping on the scorched ground and nearly falling into a blazing crack. Then he saw the things that made up the swarm and wished he hadn't. Each organism was fleshy and bulbous, covered by a thin shell. Four wings, two hard shields, two translucent ones designed for flying, flapped, protruding from the creature's armored back. The thing had a stinger at its end, two pincers at its front, and millions of tiny legs in between. It had antennae, long and spindly, that were constantly rotating, seeking food. Its mouth was a ring surrounded by revolving teeth. It was obviously meant to suck blood. But the worst part was its eyes. They had a striking resemblance to black buttons, and they seemed dead. A creepy, grotesque smile was printed on its back, seemingly to scare off predators. It worked. Cïtirinus immediately flapped over, burning them with a searing flame. They creatures fell to the ground, defeated. Gïrnięn was still uneasy.

_You know… that seemed too easy… You'd think Shadow would send more dangerous assassins._

Afterwards, Gïrnięn would curse himself for thinking that, for, right before his very eyes, the insects began to rise. Their scorched, charred remains stared unblinkingly at him, twin emerald fires blazing in its button-eyes.


End file.
